A Million Voices
by Princess Chocolatier
Summary: Rap songs inspire people to torment cops to no end, including Captain Jon Baker's own. Yet in the midst of the madness, Jon finds hope... **One year after CHiPs '99, debut of daughters Hayley Baker and Samantha Baricza!**
1. Chapter 1

(c) 2008 Carolyn Gates.

"CHiPs" and "CHiPs '99" (c) 1977 and 1999 MGM Studios. All characters property of Rick Rosner and MGM, newly created characters (c) 2008 Carolyn Gates. No profit intended.

"Million Voices" written and performed by Barlow Girl and (c) 2007 Word Music, LLC, Barlow Family Music (ASCAP). (All rights adm. by Word Music, LLC) All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured. The story will be deleted immediately at any party's request.

Chapter 1

Captain Jon Baker of the California Highway Patrol, Central division, simply couldn't bear it any longer.

On the evening news, once again, was a controversy. Another rap artist, who called himself Righteous, had created a song truly atrocious, called "Kill Them". It spoke of inflicting violence against police officers in a truly unspeakable manner, some methods truly as graphic as a Quentin Tarantino movie. Police officers nationwide, including California Highway Patrol, held strikes at music shops, record companies and malls, demanding a ban of Righteous' album, "Let Justice Be Served At Last". Though the song had somehow reached number one on the Billboard charts and had stayed there for ten weeks, churches nationwide held rallies, burning and steamrolling piles of his compact discs. Jon sat reluctantly on his sofa, as the artist on television hurried by the throng of ravenous reporters, waiting and wondering what his feelings were about the whole ordeal. He simply spat, "No apologies!" and left abruptly.

Trying to control his anger as best he could, Jon found he only succeeded in giving himself a very upset stomach, as if he'd eaten chili laden with Tobasco sauce and jalapeno peppers and ingested vodka to boot. Yet he controlled himself still as he saw the clips of the video, displaying real-life shots of police officers getting into life-threatening car accidents (which was all, of course, the censorship board would allow this rap artist to show that provided a shock factor.) Where the artist obtained these clips, who knew? Jon assumed it was probably from such horrible television shows as "World's Wildest Police Chases". The strikes and rallies still went on to this particular night.

Officer Sandy Baker, Jon's wife, slipped in beside him and put her arms lovingly around him. "Why don't you turn that stuff off?" she suggested. "It's damaging to the soul sometimes if you take too much."

"I don't know..." sighed Jon. "If something isn't done about these people who call themselves artists, so many souls could be damaged, you know? As we speak, they're being damaged already. Youth younger than thirteen are going to have their minds, hearts and souls shaped and molded by this stuff, and then where will we be? It's going on the internet, downloaded by teens with MP3 players and iPods, I mean, I've heard other stories of cops lately being stalked, their families tormented, children of cops being assaulted at school repeatedly..."

"Honey," Sandy insisted, "You can't carry the whole world on your shoulders. You can't suffer other people's problems. Goodness knows, as a police officer and Captain, you take on problems enough."

"These people who crank out this stuff are such a burden. Whoever insisted that the media doesn't move and inspire us to follow in the footsteps of artists like these are either too young or too perpetually adolescent to realize differently, or are trying to peddle these songs. Artists say they're not responsible for what our kids listen to, but I'm a firm believer that, you know, it takes a village to raise a child, so to speak, people in music, television, video games and such, they inspire to no end, they're responsible, too. And it always gets out to children younger than teenagers!"

"I understand, sweetheart, but still, you can't let all this make you sick. Perhaps maybe we can get involved in the movement to stop this stuff... in a different way, you know?"

"I certainly hope we can, Sandy."

Later on, Jon took a healthy dose of Pepto-Bismol and prepared for, hopefully, a night of rest.

A siren, and then shots were heard just outside his house, somewhere down his street.

"What was that?" Sandy asked, suddenly rising from her bed, alert.

"I don't know," said Jon. "But I guess we have to let those police out there handle it for now."

But Jon had a horrible feeling he couldn't shake. A feeling connected to the madness he'd seen on television. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lieutenant Barry Baricza had heard the news early in the morning, and it wasn't good.

The officer who was involved in the chase that took place the previous night, John Forrester of LAPD, had died. Strangely enough, haunting lyrics that Baricza had heard two days before, blistering his eardrums, thundering from a young moron's Escalade, had said it all as to how this particular officer he'd heard about had met his demise, lyrics too haunting for him to remember word for word. Forrester's throat had been cut as he had been lured into foliage somewhere on the Ventura Freeway, southbound, after the person passed by, deliberately shooting at him to have him chase him there. The killer involved, Thomas Mitchum, had an accomplice, Angel Martin, who had killed Forrester from behind. The lyrics echoed this situation almost exactly, every atrocious, abominable sentence. They were arrested, and Baricza had the urge to say, "in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Amen", but he didn't.

Yet he thought to himself, how could youth --children and teenagers-- possibly believe that the media, music in particular, did not shape, mold and inspire souls, most especially ever vulnerable young kids and teens, in infinitely negative ways as well as positive? Ridiculous. They were children, after all, and didn't know a thing.

He pondered on... how could music artists possibly say, as these rap artists often did, that it was solely the parents who were responsible for their children and not any music artists nor any of the media? All music artists, particularly, were responsible, very much so, for they had the one power they obviously underestimated, the power to move, shape and teach through their music, to move hearts, souls and spirits, many metaphoric universes that lay within a human being, in ways indescribable. And in this case, ways utterly repulsive.

Parents never always knew that kids sneaked music past them, downloaded and shared music, had it on their MP3 players and iPods... they were practically smugglers when it came to getting past parents, some of them not always having time to watch and monitor their children's and teens' viewing and listening choices. Teenagers were going through a very rough time, particularly, and anthing rebellious or angry, they'd drink up wholeheartedly like cats did milk, and it could either be forgotten by them... or more commonly, poison them to death. Music artists, as well as many others, Baricza thought, were responsible for all the world's youth, whether they chose to realize it or not. Period.

Baricza couldn't afford to be fitful inside about it. He drove to work, desperately trying not to let his anger practically drain him of all energy. He knew that if he wasn't careful, he'd be drained of all energy trying to prevent it from doing so.

The men and women of Central gathered in the briefing room once more, under the authority of Captain Baker. He spoke of what happened the night before, and what was happening in the strikes and rallies everywhere beforehand. "Be very cautious," he instructed. "Youth is out there, unfortunately shaped and molded well by this obviously poisonous music that's out there, as well as such video games as the Grand Theft Auto series, and so on and so forth."

Meanwhile, in the nearby Orange Blossom High School, Fifteen year old Hayley Baker was listening intently to Mr. Wilson and his Honors English class. Intellectual as she was, she was enjoying the discussion of one of her favorite Shakespeare books, "A Midsummer Night's Dream". Throughout the discussion, she was unassuming... unassuming that two young fellows in the back were talking about "The Captain's little girl..." and not in good spirits when they did.

A few minutes later into the discussion, she couldn't help but notice a note underneath her desk. Ordinarily, she didn't answer to such notes. She waited until class was finally over to pick it up and quickly read. Her eyes were a surprised shade of blue, as the note, scribbled in bright pink, iridescent ink, with a heart dotting the i, read :

"Daughter of a pig!"

Hayley was insulted and shocked. Yet she was taught never to take such insults personally, for that was whoever was insulting her wanted. She dismissed the note, and whoever wrote it as, most likely, a spoiled youth who was never disciplined as a child, thus discourteous to this day. 

She walked to her locker, and suddenly, much to her horror, messages were scribbled all over it in vicious, venomous permanent black ink.

"PIGLET!"

"YOU'RE GONNA BLEED!"

"WE'VE ONLY STARTED!"

Hayley, whose jaw had hit the ground, tried to keep her composure as she reluctantly opened her locker, only to find red ink, supposedly simulating blood, all over her books and notebooks. The open tubes, which came from out of ball point pens and whose ink was forced through the open end, the tubes thus shoved inside her locker vents to bleed all over her things, were found two seconds later. Laughter from distant spectators could be heard. Venomous shouts from both girls and boys...

"Piglet!"

"Serves you right!"

"Oh, lookit me," one mocked viciously, "my daddy's a fat oinker!"

Tears filled Hayley's eyes. Quietly and discreetly wiping them away, she reclaimed her dignity quickly and walked, head held high, to Biology. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Captain Baker rode down the Santa Ana freeway, where he saw what appeared to be a usual traffic jam...until he saw the signs on the right side of the highway...

"WAKE UP. THIS IS AMERICA."

"LONG LIVE THE FIRST AMENDMENT!"

"FREEDOM OF SPEECH FOR MUSIC ARTISTS EVERYWHERE!"

And then the left side...

"JUSTICE FOR ALL POLICE OFFICERS!"

"CENSORS, GET ON YOUR TOES!"

"NO MORE ANTI-COP SONGS!"

A great multitude of drivers-- some for one side, some for another, neither side's drivers having much sense in their heads-- unapologetically blared their horns, some shouting obscenities at one side, some at another.

Why weren't we notified, thought Jon. This was a most unexpected scene. The protesters at both sides shouted obscenities at each other, promising to bring each other down in any way they could.

"LA 15-7 S-20 requesting massive backup south bound on the Santa Ana freeway!" A worried Jon spoke into his radio.

"10-4, 7 S-20" replied the dispatcher.

Yet, when the protesters on both sides saw Jon, the lone police officer, things took a turn for the worse...

The protesters on the right side, already filled with the poison of many anti-cop songs, reached into several strong garbage bags, wearing thick gloves. They held chunks of mortar, big and small, all shapes and sizes, and the maelstrom of hate, anger and rage began.

The chunks of mortar hit him before he could draw his gun. His head, forehead, chest and arms were pummeled. Mortar thrown to his stomach had him struggling to breathe. Most of the throwers were pretty strong, the chunks just small enough to throw but big enough for a big impact, the way the throwers, who had conspired together on the cold-blooded task, wanted it. Jon was considerably bloodied and bruised, but certainly not down for the count.

He refused to be, always.

It wasn't until sixty seconds later that backup arrived in the form of his beloved wife, Lieutenant Baricza, Officer Peter Roulette (who was truly a force to be reckoned with, especially at the moment), and thankfully, many other good California Highway Patrol officers, men and women. The protesters on the right side spouted obscentites at them, calling them "filthy pigs" and other names unspeakable. Some chanted, "Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!"

The protesters on the left side, had also let their subconscious neanderthal instincts, unfortunately built in every imperfect human, take over, albeit at a terrible price. They hurried over to the right side of the freeway, longing to seek their coveted, supposedly sweet revenge against the protesters, many only to meet their end by involuntary vehicular manslaughter. The rest tried to inflict pain on the anti-cop, free speech protesters on the right, some trying to play hero to save the many cops--who had now multiplied with the help of LAPD, specially armed for such riots. Jon staggered to his feet, stumbling into the safety, or at least he hoped it was, of Baricza's squad car. The familiar line of many no-gooders, who came from both sides, echoed in the air, "Don't tase me, bro!" Practically all to no avail. Many arrests were made, casualties and fatalities tallied and carted off, by police car or ambulance, as well as a very shaken and deeply terrified Jon, who recalled a song he'd seen on the internet in a recent news report of cops nationwide trying to stop this brigade of hatred. "Mortar To The Head", it was called, and the lyrics spoke of many citizens starting a riot, and the first cop they'd supposedly see, they'd throw chunks of mortar at.

Why do people think these artists aren't responsible for shaping them, and the children and young people after them, into monstrosities like these, or worse, thought a furious Jon. Music can make or break a human being. Music moves souls and shapes the human heart in ways good or bad. Wake up, he thought, wake up! 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Author's Note: Though parts of this story will soon contain the name of an actual celebrity, the story is entirely ficitional.

In the Orange Blossom Baptist Hospital, Jon sustained bad cuts and bruises, but thankfully, nothing broken, and no lethal or life-threatening injuries. He was still shaken inside, yet refused to be broken spiritually or emotionally. He was, after all, a Captain, and couldn't afford to be.

He was visited by Sandy, and daughter Hayley, who confessed her own recently experienced unpleasantness. "Nasty notes and something of yours vandalized again?" exclaimed Jon. "That's the third time this month! Last two times, what was vandalized were your textbooks, then your purse, now this!"

"And they all say the same thing," she said fitfully. "That I'm the daughter of a pig, my dad's an oinker, all these threats of violence, blah, blah, blah... it's these anti-cop songs, and these stupid video games they're coming out with, some of the new ones, I heard, have players beating up police officers...using their own body movements. It's so scary what's happening to us! It's like a domino effect, and in my high school, if you're the daughter or son of a police officer, consider yourself strung up by your toes."

Jon turned to Sandy. "Didn't you notify the school?"

Sandy rolled her eyes. "Every time I do, it's always the same. The staff says she's too sensitive, that these thugs are just joking around, kids being kids, that she needs some sort of help, which, of course, is absolute rubbish. I know our child, Jon, just as well as you; she's not mentally or emotionally disturbed, they are. You know the public schools, honey, they're inept as far as the subject of bullying is concerned."

Jon rolled his eyes and sighed, exasperated.

"But there's a speaker coming in about a month. She's going to write a book later on about the subject of bullying and teasing, about how no human being should ever go through it and whatnot. She's on a crusade to let people know that bullying isn't 'just joking around', that schools have been inept too long, and the like."

"We've got to make arrangements," said Jon. "When Hayley gets hurt, so do I, and that's a burden I can't bear. Hayley, are there others in school being teased and abused because their parents are cops?"

"There are only two that I know of, Rick Reilly and Josh Barlow. Rick's dad and Josh's mom are LAPD. Rick had cigarette burns all over his body last time I looked at him in English class. Josh isn't in any of my classes, but he's got black eyes, bruises all over, goodness knows what else, every time I look at him. I overheard him say that being the kid of a cop is a curse."

"No child of a cop should feel that way!" exclaimed Jon. "Sandy, we've got to cook up something, some sort of plan. I want my daughter and these other kids--goodness knows how many there are--to have plenty of protection while in school."

"Dad--!" cried an embarrassed Hayley.

"No arguments out of you," Jon said firmly. "We'll cook up something, I swear it. I'll get Commissioner Getraer involved."

"Maybe LAPD can help," said Sandy. She then turned to a deeply humiliated, blushing Hayley. "At least until this anti-cop song stuff has passed," she attempted to reassure with compassion.

"But if they find out it was my mom and dad's idea, it'll be all the worse for me, and Rick and Josh...!"

"Commissioner Getraer can take credit for the idea," suggested Jon. "He'll understand that you and those two boys may take the rap, so he'll gladly take credit and dish out a little law and order in this high school of yours!"

Hayley didn't at all like the idea...she felt all the worse was going to happen not only to her, but her family.

I certainly hope that speaker comes soon, she thought. Maybe that will help. It's really the only thing that can! 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Baricza and his wife, Rebecca, and his two daughters, Samantha and Adele, were sitting down to dinner at their usual favorite restaurant, Luau. Discussing recent events that had happened due to the recent wave of anti-police officer music, they were shocked. "It's as if California, particularly, has absolutely lost its mind--and its heart," Rebecca said. "In Corona, on the west side, both California Highway Patrol and LAPD have had their cars vandalized with death threats."

Bear replied, "It's horrendous, the atrocities that go on. Death threats tormenting CHP in Malibu all the way down to L.A. . Captain Baker caught the blunt end of it all awhile ago in a riot, anti-police punks and bums against people who were just as crazy, both sides acting like chimpanzees, screeching, throwing things, violent, mindless… it was a war that day."

"I keep hearing that bullies are getting their kicks committing horrible acts against the kids of cops in all the junior highs and high schools here in L.A.. Beatings in hallways, burning with cigarettes, bombs placed in their lockers. Some speaker is touring all over the country on this very subject, trying to stop all the bullying. Her name is Jodee Blanco," added Samantha, the older of the two children, Hayley Baker's age.

"We can only hope this…'Wave Of Evil', as the local news people have called it, stops before it's too late," said Bear, both he and Rebecca secretly fearing for their daughters' lives. They had heard about an atrocity that had happened recently in the girls' former Mac Iver Middle School, a gang of teens taking broken glass from beer bottles and strategically throwing it at the unwitting granddaughter of a sergeant in another division, though Bear and Rebecca couldn't remember which division. He and a few members from Central would have to go quietly the next day, pluck the suspects out of class one by one, (for the girl was brave enough to tell who each of them were in the hospital when interrogated by Sergeant Bruce Nelson of Central)and arrest them, each having their day in court.

Meanwhile, Captain Baker, still recuperating in the hospital, heard by cell phone from Detective Arthur Grossman that most of the rioters Baker experienced had, thankfully, been arrested that day. "But unfortunately, some are still creeping around out there," Grossman explained as Baker's wife and daughter stood at his bedside. "The media is coming on strong, especially nowadays," said Jon. "Before I landed here, I checked out the lyrics to some of these rap songs on the internet. Young people download this stuff… about atrocities committed against police… it's just too horrible and obscene to describe, most of it, and they can hide it from their parents. They are influenced--heck, anyone is, young or old!--subconsciously, in spirit, in heart, and it rots their insides, so to speak, and pits them against the very guardians of their very lives, who put their own lives on the line all the time!"

"There's going to be a speaker at your daughter's school, am I right?" asked Grossman.

"Yeah. Her name's Blanco."

"Commissioner Getraer said to tell you he sent you an E-mail saying that as soon as you recover, you'll have to speak with her to the kids about how the media influences them to bully the kids of cops, specifically," replied Grossman. Jon rolled his eyes. Another speaking job, something he hadn't developed a taste for ever since his early years as a CHP officer in the seventies. He hated to conceal, to the young people, the many abominable acts the average police officer experiences. He always did his very best to stay positive at every public speaking affair…

"You know, Grossie, I can recall a really stupid movie from 1983, it had Chevy Chase in it. This family he plays the dad of goes on vacation to a place similar to Disneyland--it's a road trip--and somehow a dog gets involved in the trip. Chevy accidentally ties him to the rear bumper and they drag him all across a highway, accidentally killing him. They didn't kill the dog in real life, but that's how the story went."

"But…what's this have to do with all the recent mayhem going on?" asked Grossman.

"The point is, Grossie, in real life thousands of people watched this all over the nation, and they sent, well, 'cheerful' little fan letters later about how they'd proudly done the same thing to their own dog, with no regrets. Chevy Chase later said he often wondered how people like that live with themselves. The point is, the media inspires people. It's a very powerful tool. It shapes and molds all kinds of minds and hearts to either contribute to this world or commit atrocious acts. That's what this anti-cop music is doing to everybody, Grossie. It's moving them to terrorize--and even kill--anyone wearing a badge and anyone related to them!"

"I see what you mean," Detective Grossman replied. "It seems to me, at the moment, one of the most feared enemies of the CHP, in particular, is the media. Videos, CDs, downloads on the internet parents are often helpless against…"

Jon understood completely. He was determined to do…something, if it was his last earthly act.

Something has to be done before it's too late, he thought.


End file.
